


Wireless

by misura



Category: Logan Lucky (2017)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 23:28:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16922427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: Dayton and Clyde bond over liquid software (which is to say: tea).





	Wireless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [specialrhino](https://archiveofourown.org/users/specialrhino/gifts).



"Here now, don't I know you from somewhere?" said the bartender, and Dayton thought to himself that on a scale of one to ten, when it came to linking up, this probably counted as 3G.

Could have been worse, could have been better, but at least there was a possibility for data flow.

"Dayton White," he said, not holding out his hand. (It didn't seem the kind of meeting for which handshakes were part of the protocol and besides, the guy was working.)

"Clyde Logan," said the bartender. Dayton noticed one of his arms had been updated. "Dayton White, eh? Oh right. You was a racecar driver. Going to make a big come-back, wasn't you?"

"Yeah." Dayton shrugged, as if it didn't bother him.

"Didn't work out so well, way I heard it," Clyde said. "Sorry."

"Hey, shit happens," said Dayton. "Got infected with some bad software. What can you do?" Other than punch Max Chilblaine in the face, only he hadn't been able to run that program.

As he'd told the media, he was an athlete, not a driver. Athletes didn't go around punching people in the face.

Clyde nodded. "Cauliflower. So what's your poison?"

Dayton considered bringing up Max, but then, unless he was mislogging Clyde's IP-address, that intel would be outdated. Besides, you couldn't live your life relying on anti-virus software to deal with all your problems, particularly not when that anti-virus software looked like Clyde Logan.

"I meant, what do you want to drink?" Clyde said.

Dayton made a mental note to work on his response time. Requiring people to repeat their queries was bad manners, and besides, it might give them the wrong impression about his specs.

"You got any mineral water?"

Clyde snorted. "This look like a place people come to drink mineral water to you?"

Well. This was a bit of a 404. Given what had happened last time, Dayton wasn't too keen on allowing more corrupted software to run on his system (ruin his system, more like).

On the other hand, in order to establish a connection, he'd have to meet the system requirements, one of which seemed to be ordering a drink.

Clyde snorted again. "Tea all right? I can do tea."

"Thank you," said Dayton. Tea would be fine. "What kind?"

"Beats me," Clyde said. "That a problem?"

"Not at all," said Dayton. "You know, I've seen you somewhere before, too."

"Ain't that something."

"My dreams," Dayton said.

Clyde paused. "Beg pardon?"

"You're the man of my dreams," Dayton explained.

Clyde put down the cup of tea. "Mister, I'm thinking maybe you had a few too many. Lemon?"

"If you want."

Clyde gave him a look. Dayton felt like their communication protocols might have fallen out of sync somehow. "Your tea, your call."

"It's fine," Dayton said. "Sorry. I felt we'd gotten to a point where you'd switched off your firewall to allow an easier exchange of data."

"Yeah," Clyde said. "They told on the news how you was a bit strange in the head. Course, you can't believe half of what you see on there. I mean, take that whole heist thing."

Dayton relaxed a bit. The tea was good. Clyde hadn't asked him if he wanted any milk or sugar, which was good too. (He didn't. Maybe their connection was going strong and steady after all. Just ... telepathically or something. Maybe the arm wasn't the only upgrade Clyde had downloaded.)

"I love your arm," said Dayton. "Your hand." The hand that had broken Max's nose, and that was something, wasn't it?

Clyde studied him for a few seconds as if he was running a quick system check. (Very quick. Dayton always scheduled his system checks in his sleep. Eight hours a night, minimum, and he'd wake up good as new.) "Thanks."

"This is great tea," Dayton said. "Maybe you should consider switching careers."

"Maybe you should too," said Clyde. "No offense, but you don't seem to be doing too hot."

"Nah." Dayton shrugged. "I just need to get rid of some bugs, a couple of corrupted sub-systems. My first come-back, I focused too much on the software, see? I should have paid more attention to the hardware, the external drives. Next time - you'll see. I'll get you a couple of tickets. You and your friend."

Clyde seemed to need some time to process that data package. "What makes you think I got a friend?"

"You made me tea," Dayton said.

"So I did," said Clyde. "And this led you to thinking I have a friend?"

"I'd like to connect with you," Dayton said. "I feel like we're compatible."

"Right. So you want to meet my friends. Fair enough. I should warn you though, my family's under a curse. Makes us pretty dangerous to be around."

Dayton considered. "Willing to risk it if you are."

"Well, don't have much of a choice, do I? Once a Logan, always a Logan. And Logans, well, they don't get the best of luck. No, indeed. You ask around these here parts, people'll tell you all about it. The unlucky Logans, they call us. And stupid, but that ain't nothing but slander."

Dayton finished his tea. He felt better, brighter. "From where I'm sitting, it wouldn't take much for you to get lucky."

"You don't mind my saying so, by way of a pick-up line, that one leaves something to be desired."

"Well. You made me tea," Dayton repeated.

"Gives a man expectations, huh?" Clyde said. "S'pose you might just have a point there. Not much of one, mind, what with me being a bartender and all."

"Also, you haven't punched me in the face."

"Now that's an oddly specific thing to read anything into, ain't it? Plenty of people whose faces I haven't punched. Ain't seeing me hop into bed with any of them now, do you?"

"Actually, I was hoping you'd let me give you a ride home," said Dayton.

"I see," Clyde said. "Now that's different, ain't it? That's just a nice thing to do for someone."

Dayton aborted the sending of a data package containing the information that it hardly compared to what Clyde had done for him. Like comparing bytes to kilobytes.

"All right then, Mr Racecar Driver. Sounds like you've gotten yourself a passenger."


End file.
